The irony of trying to run this blog is that the more interesting a story. I want to write about gets, the more difficult it gets to write about. Take, by example, the ever-growing story of housing in Beeston. I attended the last full council meeting where the Lib/Lab partnership effectively triangulated the Tories with their promise to ring-fence Toton from the avaricious desires of hungry developers determined to dump a sea of concrete on the land that buffers it from Chilwell and Stapleford. So far, so simple.

Then the complexities set in. Everybody decided they deserve the credit for this action, and in the scramble to claim the glory no love is lost between any of the parties. Throw in Soubry’s reinvention of herself as MP Anna Eco-Warrior and suddenly you have a twisted knot of complexity only a skilled and experienced local journalist can clinically unpick. Sadly, one isn’t available, so you’ll have to make do with my fat-thumbed attempts. I promise I’ll be on it as soon as I can. But first, a request to all politicians out there:can you just pause a bit while I catch up? Cheers.


Still, looks like I’ll have more time on my hands shortly.  I’ve had my contract on my full time job abruptly ended with just two weeks notice, and with a gloomy job market to have to go trawling round my leisure time will be grow in direct proportion to my debts. Still, as unemployment is apparently the in thing with the youth these days, I suddenly become quite hip again. Big up the dole-office massive, is, I believe, is the correct parlance.

I can’t say much about why my contract was terminated, or any juicy details about the few months I worked at the place I worked, as I have to serve out the last two weeks (neatly making my 38th Birthday the last proper payday before begging for JSA again). There is a story to tell though, and I’m itching to tell it. Stay tuned.


I still do have another job of course. Pays nowt but I’m coming to quite enjoy knocking out The Beestonian every few weeks. We’re up to Issue 3 right now, though technically its Issue 5 as we did a pilot edition and a student special, only available from the Beeston BID stand at University of Nottingham’s Fresher’s week. We now have a few sponsors who help us with the costs, a great local printer called Dave and everywhere we stock it seems appreciative. It’s still daunting to start producing each issue and seeing the formatted columns empty and crying to be filled…I may have more time to work on it now I’m out of gainful employment, but i’d still love you lot to help out: send me your thoughts, your ideas, any events you want publicizing, anything. Otherwise it may morph into a physical representation of the murkier depths of my mind, and believe me, that could be dangerous, if not outright illegal. Send me stuff at , or if you want to see your name in print. We’re also on Twitter, search for @TheBeestonian . Our assistant editor Rish runs the Twitter feed, and as he also runs the top-notch Forest site , please ignore any tweets that bang on about sweet midfield forward passes. He gets confused at times.


Bizarre little (sort of Beestonia) fact: Peter Bowles, the quintessential sitcom well-groomed, oft-cravated posho and RP voiced raconteur actually grew up in a slummy corer of Hyson Green. Rumours that Penelope Keith used to deal crack from a terrace in Basford have yet to be confirmed.

"Aya masht midduck?" "I have utterly no idea what you are saying, Peter"



And this very well may not be real, but it’s worth a look: (cheers to Neil Doherty for pointing me towards this)

Evidently theres a BA in Aerosmith Studies these days...



Beestonia Begs for Brevity (and dole-money); To the Manor Born?; Lift Going Down…